


Shattered Mirrors

by Kalla_Moonshado



Series: Conspiracy of Ravens [7]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Angst, Correspondence, Did I Mention Angst?, Fluff, I wanted to smack my muses from the start of the second chapter I swear to all that's holy, Karazhan being Karazhan, Letters, M/M, Makeup/Breakup/Makeup/Breakup ... MAKE UP YOUR MINDS, Modera takes no shit from Khadgar, More angst, Near Death Experiences, Typical Khadgar Idiocy, Typical Medivh Vaguery, miscommunications
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-02-17 09:43:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13074237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalla_Moonshado/pseuds/Kalla_Moonshado
Summary: Well, if you all recall the end of the last installment.Yup, another *smack muse* You broke it, now FIX IT fic.I mean. You didn't really expect them to be fairy-tale perfect, did you? DID YOU?For all they are ravens... they are human, after all.





	1. Chapter 1

I.

Khadgar landed in his bedroom in Dalaran, still shaking. He swayed a little as he stepped forward, nearly knocking one of the small tables in the tiny sitting area over. He clutched the back of one of the armchairs, his knuckles white against the faded blue upholstery. The tears he refused to shed prickled at his eyes, and he took a step back, stripping as he moved, and not caring where his clothing landed. He dropped onto his bed, his head still reeling from the blow.

He should have expected it. He should have known.

He had thought about it for years, wondering if it had been the reason Medivh had become distant. So. He _had_ been expendable. And of course, by the end of it all, maybe he’d gotten bored of her as well. He curled himself into a ball, dragged a blanket over himself and tried to get to sleep. Tomorrow wasn’t going to come any slower so he could mourn. It was already late; he wasn’t sure how late, considering that he and Medivh had spent the evening – and a good part of the night – talking.

It was no wonder Medivh hadn’t reached out in all that time. When he’d realized Khadgar was around he’d simply decided to cut his losses and return to the apprentice who would sacrifice his soul for his master.

Khadgar turned over, burying his face in his pillow. He felt as though he’d been stabbed through the heart, from behind his back. Tears would do him no good, and he knew it, but he just let them fall. He’d probably wake up with a headache. That was fine. It would have been no different if he had not gone out to Karazhan tonight in the first place. Except…

He was emotionally and mentally drained. He had bled out so much that he didn’t want to think about. Dredged memories out of the deepest recesses and offered them, sometimes reluctantly.

He knew that Medivh had done the same, but…

Why had he never…

_Why didn’t he just tell me the truth? He begged me to hear him out… perhaps there was something more to it? A threat? A demand from Gul’dan? Something? Anything… a … a reason for him… to… to…_

To betray everything he’d been pouring out of him, before Medivh’s death… and the past several hours.

He buried his howl of misery in his pillow and cried himself to sleep.

 

He woke to a knock on his door that was quickly upgraded to pounding. With a groan, he hauled himself out of his bed, pulled on a wrap-robe. He managed to get into his sitting room without tripping on anything, and double checked that his robe was _closed_ before pulling open the door.

Modera nearly hit him in the face as she lifted her hand to knock again.

“Modera?”

“Are you all right? You’ve _never_ overslept in your life!”

Khadgar blinked. “What time is it?”

“Well past noon. Kalec’s on the Shore, telling everyone you’re ill.” Modera squinted at him. “You look it.” She shoved him backwards and slipped inside, closing the door behind her. Her voice lowered. “You look like you’ve been crying, Khadgar. What’s going on?”

Khadgar sighed, letting his shoulders fall, and taking a step back. “Stress,” he temporized. “Things just…”

“Nice try. Try another one.” Modera hissed. “I know where you were supposed to be last night.” Khadgar winced. “What happened?” She stopped, shook her head, then held up a hand. “Hold on. First off – you. Hot bath. Second, you’re in no shape to leave here today. I’ll go tell Kalec, and go find something to brighten your spirits enough that you can talk. Third, I think you’re in need of coffee. So. I will go take care of that. You put yourself into some hot water, and I’ll be back in … half an hour or so.”

Khadgar blinked, opened his mouth to protest, but knew better than to try. “All right,” he sighed. If he had to be honest with himself (which he tried not to be), he was tired, he was hurt, and he was in no shape to deal with the Legion, even if Sargeras himself decided to confront him. Well, he would have had enough emotional upheaval to draw on and he could have taken it out on the Titan, if nothing else. Considering that deep within the root of all of his troubles was said Titan.

He ran a hand over his face. “All right,” he repeated, softly. “I’ll leave my door keyed to open for you, if I’m not out yet.”

“Fair enough.” Modera frowned at him for a moment, then flapped her hand in a shooing motion. “Go on.” She slipped back out before he could protest.

Khadgar reached down and picked up his clothing from the night before and dropped it in his room as he made his way to his bathing room and immersed himself in hot water. He closed his eyes and sighed as he sank into it, wishing dearly that he had actually kept his head last night. He’d needed the restful sleep that he could only get curled against Medivh’s side.

Even if he was a second choice.

Once he was clean and his muscles were pliant instead of brick, he hauled himself out of his tub. He draped his towel over the edge of the tub and returned to his room. He heard nothing, and assumed Modera had not returned. He eyed his battle robes for a moment, debating on whether he really should stay here like Modera had told him, or go resume his post. He decided against it, knowing Modera would probably spell him to sleep or into a sheep if he tried.

Instead, he pulled on a plain robe of a deep, but faded, purple. As he closed the wardrobe door with his foot while tying the sash, he blinked at his bedside table.

There was a sealed letter on it; the seal was a deep vermillion. Khadgar closed his eyes with a sigh. He wasn’t sure he was up to dealing with Medivh right now.

Curiosity, however, won. He picked it up and carefully broke the seal, unfolded it, and blinked. It wasn’t long, and the familiar script was a little messy, as though it had been written in a rush.

_Khadgar,  
I refuse to leave things as they stand – you don’t deserve it, and neither do I. Please, I beg you to come back and hear me out. I won’t put what I have to say in a letter; you deserve to hear it from me directly. I swear I didn’t mean things to happen the way they did last night, and I should have said something instead of remaining silent and letting you draw your own conclusions._

_By the Light’s grace, please don’t let a misunderstanding come between us. Not now._

_Always yours,  
Medivh_

Khadgar ran a hand along his forehead, rubbing one temple. He moved into the sitting room and dropped down onto the couch, his eyes scanning the note again. He finally closed his eyes and refolded the letter and set it on the table, shaking his head and sighing.

A soft knock alerted him to Modera’s return, and the door opened before he could get to his feet. Modera slipped in, closed the door with her foot, and moved to the table and had deposited a box tied off with string and a steaming silver teapot, miniature pitcher and sugar dish, and two mugs all clearly purloined from downstairs.

Without a word, she pushed him back down onto the couch and looked him over critically. “Well, you look a little better. Kalec, Ansirem and Vargoth send well wishes, Karlain says ‘get better or else’.” She settled down beside him, reached for the pot and poured coffee, dosed one mug liberally with cream and sugar and passed it to Khadgar. She added a little sugar and a touch of cream to her own, and curled up on the couch with it. “So. What happened?”

Khadgar stirred his coffee thoughtfully. How was he going to explain this?

He decided on short, raw, and open.

“A long time ago, when I lived in Karazhan and studied under Medivh… we…” He looked at Modera, then dropped his gaze, blushing fiercely. “We became lovers.” Modera gasped in shock, but Khadgar didn’t give her an opportunity to do more than that. “It was … unexpected. And before you think he seduced me – no. He did not. It was entirely mutual.” He sipped at his coffee, sighing a little at the warmth it spread through him. “When I stood before the Council, and told you all… everything… I of course left that out. There was no reason for anyone to know. He was dead. By my hands. Lothar suspected. I told Turalyon one night when I missed him so much that it was … debilitating.”

He reached and set his coffee down, wringing his hands. “Not long before, as you likely remember, Garona, the half orc turned up. I learned much from her, and helped Stormwind stave off at least one attack with the information she fed to me – which I passed on to Lothar.” He closed his eyes. “I… I was afraid…” he paused, clearing his throat. “I was afraid, then, that he had… discarded me. He grew distant; the last time we were… intimate… was the day before she arrived.” He methodically cracked the knuckles on each of his fingers with a sharp snap for each, making Modera wince. “I… I thought he might have … discarded me. For her.” His voice broke on his last words.

“We did not become lovers out of a physical attraction,” he murmured, insistently. “Or it was not the only thing that drew us together. I fell _in love_ with Medivh, long before I… I ever had any idea of his – ah – physical history. We… were – are – two of a kind. There were nights we could just spend without talking, with me leaning against him as he read and I studied. Or nights we spent in chess games or riddles as he kept my mind sharp. We didn’t need more than the other’s presence to feel the other’s affection.” He folded his hands. “N-near the end… he became colder to me. But he still ‘spoke’ with Garona. He insisted if there was to be a chance at peace, there would have to be talks. Being the jealous idiot I am, I always wondered if there was more than just … talk.”

Finally, he looked up at Modera. She stared at him, a stricken look in her eyes, her jaw slack and her mouth partly open. “He… He told me last night… with s-silence,” he murmured. “I… We… He and I were…” He closed his eyes again, trying to keep his composure. “We were sharing stories. Of the scars we both bear. Where they’d come from. Who or what caused them. Some of them were… like reopening old wounds gone septic to be drained before they got worse. He told me of the time while he was … was dead. I told him of my childhood – both scars, but on our souls, rather than on our bodies. And … when I mentioned… how it’d hurt – when he’d gone cold… and admitted that I thought it was because he… he…” Khadgar shook his head, unable to speak further.

“You were wide open and vulnerable, you mentioned it, and he admitted it by remaining silent,” Modera deduced, her words soft. Khadgar nodded. “That must have felt like a dagger in the back,” she breathed. “Especially since… well. I had a feeling when you’d gone off the first time ‘for answers’, and came back looking as though … well, as though someone had put more life back into you, and when you’d said that the Magus was alive – though bound to the tower, I had a feeling it was he who had made you... stronger. More confident. When you mentioned returning, and came back here looking almost cheerful, I became suspicious. Last night, when you went, I figured that even though you’ve been going to him to talk about the current situation, and seeing if he had answers… I had a feeling there was more to it.” She sighed. “And now, when you’ve just found one another again, you find out about a betrayal that he’s … well, perhaps not hidden, but never thought would ever come up again…”

“And you’re right. It felt like a stab in the back,” Khadgar sighed, reaching to pick up is coffee again. With it, he picked up the letter, and passed it to her. “This was waiting by my bed when I got out of the bath.”

Modera took the letter, and set her own coffee down before unfolding it. She scanned it quickly, her lips compressed in a look of irritation. “And?” she asked, setting the letter down and reclaiming her mug.

Khadgar shrugged. “I know it was in the past. But… I… I can’t… I cannot reconcile the act of the past, when he had been actively … ignoring me… and … well. Now. Is he trying to reconcile his act, or is he clinging to me because I’m the only one who ever admitted they care for him as I do?”

Modera sighed. “I wish I could answer that. You know, you can’t avoid him forever.” She nodded to the letter. “He clearly _does_ care, or he wouldn’t have sent that.”

“Does he _care_ , or is he _lonely_?” Khadgar shot back. “Is it me he doesn’t want to lose, or does he just not want to _lose_?”

Modera set her mug down again, then reached for the box, tugged at the string binding it closed, and opened it. She pulled out a pastry wrapped in paper, took Khadgar’s mug from him and put the pastry in his hands.

Khadgar looked at it for a long moment, blinking at it. Was he even hungry? He was still mostly numb, if he had to admit it – which he wouldn’t. Absently he shifted the paper from the top of it leaving it to fall open in his hand and frowned. It was obviously a strudel.

“Trust me.” Modera said, unwrapping a second one and picking off a bite.

Khadgar shrugged and pulled off the corner, tilting it so what was obviously chocolate would not run off the top and the rich purple-red filling would not run out of the center.

Aimee’s work. It had to be. The pastry was light and flaky, the combination of berries exactly right to not be too sweet or too tart, the chocolate just on the right side of bittersweet. The rest of the strudel quickly followed that first taste. And he seemed to feel a little better.

Modera watched him like a hawk watching a squirrel. “Uh huh. Thought as much,” she chuckled as he reached for a second one. “Your sweet-tooth hasn’t changed.” Her tone softened a little. “Do you feel a little better?”

Khadgar offered a very tiny, very shy smile. “A bit.” He looked up at her, pausing in picking a bite off the second strudel. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Modera replied with a slight bow of her head. “As for your question, I don’t know how to answer you. What I know of Medivh is that he was always eccentric, his parties were in excess nearly to the point of disgrace, and that the only times he showed he had a heart was when it came to Llane Wrynn or Anduin Lothar. For all his playboy attitude, he was ruthless to any threat.” She shrugged. “And then you told the Council what you did when it all came crashing down.” She toyed with a bit of crust from her strudel. “None of us could have guessed what it was like for you, Khadgar. Bad enough for you to learn about your master, mentor and what we assumed, from the warmth with which you spoke of your beginnings in Karazhan, a father figure and beloved friend. Perhaps the others would have been cruel if they’d known. Perhaps I would have been also. But not now.”

Khadgar sighed. “I knew he would come back, Modera.” His eyes shifted to look at her though he didn’t move. “We conversed a little, thanks to some quirk of the tower. I’d felt his presence the entire time I was there, but didn’t realize who or what it was, guiding me. Nudging me.”

Modera nodded slowly. “And then you went across the portal.”

“And expected to die there. I thought of him often. I’d brought several of his books, hoping to find answers. It was a bittersweet reminder. But, I had not thought about the conflict that led us … to this. There were other things to consider.”

“And now?” Modera lifted an eyebrow.

Khadgar didn’t answer right away, picking at his strudel. “The question still stands.”

“Then ask him, Khadgar.”

Khadgar choked, and Modera slapped his back lightly. “What?!” he managed to gasp out at last.

“Ask him if it is you he fears losing, or if he just fears losing. He was one who hated losses. He was ruthless to anything he lost against. When he lost someone or something in his care, he would do anything it took to regain it, or destroy whatever took it.” Modera let her eyebrow fall. “Take care that he doesn’t turn that on himself – or it will be you who loses him.”

 

Hours later, as Khadgar went through some of the more mundane paperwork he’d been neglecting, he still turned Modera’s words over in his mind. He had not answered Medivh’s note, nor had another come. Modera ordered him (which he tried to be indignant about but found he couldn’t stand up to her for more than five minutes) to take a couple of days for himself, not only to work out what was going on between him and Medivh, but also to step back from the conflict on the Broken Shore and calm down.

He wasn’t about to spend it idle.

He signed off on an order for new students’ uniforms and sighed, setting the order aside as there was a knock on the door. He got up to answer it, running a hand though his hair. It was a student, blushing at him as she offered him an envelope. He thanked her as she scampered off once he’d taken it. He shook his head. One day maybe the students would stop acting like he was some kind of untouchable being. He wondered if they’d treated Antonidas this way.

He closed the door and looked down at the envelope, which was sealed in red. He sighed. The seal was of course, Medivh’s. So this one had gone through ‘proper’ channels instead of landing in his apartment.

He sighed again as he set the envelope down on the arm of one of his armchairs, moved to the sideboard and poured himself a glass of wine. He had a feeling he’d need it. He settled in the chair, setting the glass on the table beside it, and picked up the letter, broke the seal, and unfolded it. It wasn't much longer than the one he’d gotten a few hours ago. The handwriting was shaky, the ink blotched.

Khadgar’s heart sank, even before he started to actually read the words.

_Khadgar,  
I had hoped you would not let something like this outweigh all we have been through. I still will not explain, since as I said before, it would do neither of us any good to put it into a letter, when it should be something we speak about, face to face. I beg of you, please return and hear me out._

_I know you can use sympathy. Do so now. You must understand how I feel. I never lied about how I feel about you, never once. My heart belongs to you, and only you. Only ever you, no matter what I may have done with my body, or what He had done with it._

_I stayed for you. I could have simply vanished, turned my back on Azeroth. You were not here – I felt no reason to. I beg you. Hear me out. Please hear me out._

_Yours always,  
Medivh_

Khadgar set his glass down. Even without trying, he could feel the shaking in his hands, the tightness in his chest, the despair and fear. He put the letter down, ran his hand over his face and sighed yet again.

He wasn’t sure he was ready to listen. He knew he was being utterly stupid but he just couldn’t…

He left the letter on the arm of the chair, refilled his wine glass and returned to his work.


	2. Chapter 2

Medivh stared at the spot where Khadgar had just been standing. His eyes closed. His hand slowly dropped back to his side, and he sat heavily on the bed, feeling as though he had just been run through again.

Only this time, the blade was his own, and he had done it to himself.

He traced the scar along the left side of his chest, and knew he had just inflicted a far worse wound on his former apprentice. His successor. His lover.

He dropped his head into his hands. He had to find some way to explain. Some way to make Khadgar understand _why_. Some way to remind him of… No. No, there was no use blaming this on Sargeras. He could have declined. He could have stopped it.

He lifted his head and stared down at his hands, as though they contained the answers. He wished he could go back and stop himself from staying silent when Khadgar had asked. He should have told him the truth up front. He should have explained. He should have said _something_.

“I have betrayed your name,” he murmured, softly, echoing words he had once said to Khadgar, long ago. “And I do not know how to make restitution.”

He closed his eyes, drew a slow shaking breath, then turned with lightning speed and flung a bolt of raw arcane at the wall opposite, the stones groaning but not giving way completely. Dust and chips of the stones rained from the wound he had inflicted, however, and he staggered backwards, reaching out to cling to a bedpost.

So. He was still bound _that_ tightly to the tower. He looked down at his hands, and flung another bolt at the same spot, the pain that resulted in his back as more chips and dust flew grounding him and draining away his anger. He waved his hand in a sharp sideways gesture and the dust cleared enough for him to get a look at the damage.

There was a defined hole in the wall, and he turned his back on it, misery starting to take the place of the anger as he left the room.

As Karazhan had begun to unravel into the Nether before he and Khadgar managed shut down the conduits, Medivh had found that a great many of the rooms, hallways and doorways weren’t where he expected them to be. Some had vanished. Doors led into rooms they weren’t supposed to. Rooms changed depending on where one stood. Hallways transposed themselves with others if a certain point was crossed. Hallways and rooms twisted from floor to ceiling and back again.

The pathway to the smaller library was like this. The larger library was half upside down, mirrored on itself in strange ways so the floor and the ceiling swapped the closer one got to one or the other, keeping all of the bookcases there out of reach. One corner of the library was all that had been spared, and that contained the staircase to the sitting room where… well. He still wasn’t sure what had been done.

The library was slowly recovering, though trying to find a way up to his study and observatory was always fun. Sometimes he could get there from the smaller library. Sometimes the guest hall where he now lived, seeing as the tower had obliterated his own quarters. Other times, he could get there from the kitchens.

It was a rather fun “adventure” trying to find the bathing room and privy his first night back.

As the tower put itself back to rights, he started feeling better. The better he felt, the faster the tower seemed to recover itself.

Right now, however, the tower was disinclined to aid him reach where he wanted to go, even though where he wanted to go was down a flight of stairs and across the ballroom. Or, rather, should have been. It took him another hour or more to find his way through the dining hall, the ballroom and the kitchens to get to the hallway he wanted a back way.

He stood in front of the hidden door, ignoring the smear of blood that was still visible on the floor. Memories flooded back to him of a night, years ago, where Moroes had stopped him here, begging him not to go down into the catacombs below, telling him that his apprentice and the emissary had gone for help. They knew something was wrong and were going for help – please, please, don’t go down there.

The memories were raw, having been stirred not hours ago, and Medivh bit his lip as he raised his hand and triggered the hidden mechanisms once more, and began his descent.

The scent of decay, both of bodies of the demons kept here and of human and … other things… mingled with the scent of heated iron, old stone and the musty scent of mildew from the abandonment of decades. Even when he had returned, he had not come down here – simply sealed off the hidden door and strived to ignore the existence of the place where he had found his end at Khadgar’s hands.

He bypassed everything – the libraries, the kennels, the rooms of artifacts and unstable magics that had only been blown to nothing when he had died and the tower had… He shivered, despite the growing warmth as he moved lower. Drawing the loose robe around him did nothing to ease it.

His old sanctuary was… clean. Cleaner than he’d expected. He had expected bloodstains on the flooring. There were… signs… of the battle that took place here. A scorch-mark there, a crack in the flooring here, a dent there. Scrapes. And of course the spot where the explosion of power had originated left the obsidian floor scorched, etched and marred in a pattern that caused his heart to ache as he looked at it.

The runes in the floor were laced with Khadgar’s signature – he had tried to contain the damage, but drained as he was…

He closed his eyes and stalked to the worktable, and with a wave of his hand, the candles – fresh tapers, he noticed – ignited – and illuminated an envelope laying in the center of the table.

It was thick. The parchment was aged, the ink faded, but the script on it was so achingly familiar that Medivh sank into the chair and picked up the envelope and stared at it.

Khadgar’s handwriting had not changed in the past thirty years – but this… this had been here … for how long?

He broke the silvery blue seal – his, he noticed; the raven in silvery blue wax instead of vermillion – and pulled out the pages.

They were old. The ink was as faded as the outside. The date on the first page was the day Medivh had died – or the day after. He flipped through a few of the pages – to find that the last date was some twenty years ago – clearly just before Khadgar had gone across the Dark Portal. He shook his head, and lowered his eyes to the words, noting that no few were slightly marred by age-old tears, the ink blotched, some of the words a little shaky – but all in Khadgar’s scribe-perfect hand.

 

_Medivh,  
My dearest friend. My beloved mentor, teacher, master. The dearest and deepest love I have ever known. _

_I am so deeply sorry that there are no words I can think of to express it. I clearly did not love you enough._

_I should have stopped all this before it came to what it did last night – this morning? – I’ve just buried you in the dawn. I saw you – I know you will one day return. My heart is too full, too aching to not bleed it – and I don’t know who else might understand. Lothar perhaps – considering his injuries, he was taken back to Stormwind to be treated; I remained here to take care of things. I could not leave you where you were. It would be an insult not to do something._

_I laid you to rest beside Moroes. Beside Cook. I think they both loved you in their way, Medivh. I know Moroes did – he and I did talk a bit, while you were sleeping. You called them ‘catnaps’. Days on end where I slept in the chair beside you. Moroes…_

_Moroes was very pleased about us, you know. I offered to help him change your bedding one afternoon. After he dropped off your broth – I had taken over feeding you by then – and returned with fresh linens, he told me that none of it was my responsibility. I paused while dipping the last of the broth from the bowl, and looked up at him. I think it was then that he knew, long before I blew up the library. I told him that I was your apprentice. You were my responsibility. His eyes went kind of soft, and he smiled – actually smiled. He waited until I had fed you the last of the broth, set the bowl aside, and then directed me and instructed me on how to get the linens changed without disturbing you. He left me to change your nightclothes as he unfolded spare blankets. Medivh, he knew. As I followed him with the tray as he brought the linens downstairs, he told me that I was very, very good for you. That you had more life in you since I came. And told me that it wasn’t so hard, caring for two, rather than one. When I arrived, he had lamented a bit that now there would be more work – and I tried not to burden him much._

_Cook was very adamant about your moods – when you were in a bad mood, she made your favorites. She sent up more treats. Made excuses that I had a sweet-tooth. I do – but I saw her smile when you partook of those sweets._

_Both of them loved you, Medivh. They surely knew. They knew it was not you who ended their lives._

_But you know who ended yours._

_I am so sorry, so very sorry I didn’t see it sooner. I’m sorry I didn’t solve it sooner. I… it hurt, Medivh. It hurt so much when you pushed me away. Was this why? Was this the reason you sent a demon after me in the library? And then the argument. Light, that argument cut me to the bone, and I know you know it did. You wouldn’t even call me by name._

_I knew you’d replaced me – with her. But my name – you couldn’t even say my name. And then seeing your eyes. Hearing your words as you bled out over my hands._

_I can never atone for my lack of attention. Perhaps there might have been a way to save your life._

_I’ve gone through the library. Many of the higher books – the ones you’d mentioned in passing, I’m taking with me. Your astronomy notes. Your journals. For nostalgia. Perhaps reading some of your research and just seeing your handwriting and feeling your emotions as you’d worked will bring me some modicum of comfort, however small._

_I don’t deserve to live, Medivh, not after what I’ve done to you._

_Just… just know that when I leave this tower, I will leave it warded, protected. And I hope one day to return to see it restored instead of falling to time – this I swear to you._

_I love you, Medivh. I have always loved you. I will always love you._

_Yours and yours alone,  
Khadgar_

 

Medivh put the page down when he was done, his eyes closing for a moment. He took a deep breath, then picked up the next one, which was stained with seawater; the scent rising as the next two pages rubbed together.

 

_Stormwind has fallen. Survivors are few. The Horde will not stop where it is, I know it. Not now that Garona has assassinated Llane. Lothar and I were too far away to stop it. Forgive me, Medivh, I could not stop her. We saw it in Karazhan before we killed you. We railed against fate, but whatever you did… She carried out her fate. I could not protect your friend, your king. Forgive me. Light, forgive me..._

_We fled to Lordaeron. Lothar is holding up as best he can; I am little help. Both of us are still in pain. Your loss is hitting this world hard, Medivh. Though no one so much as the two of us. We see land, and neither of us wish to face it. So many have died on the journey from injury or starvation. I can do so little. I have done all that I can – Lothar has been forced to stop me from casting before I kill myself._

_Not that I deserve to live._

_We are afraid. Lothar has put me in charge of .. much. I do not feel eighteen; I feel eight hundred._

_Terenas is a good man. He feels much like Llane did, may the Light’s Embrace hold him dear. I return to Dalaran soon – they will want to know everything. I will not let them slander you, even if I have to destroy the Chamber of Air to keep them from it._

_I have never seen the Council stunned to silence. Yet they were as they listened to me. I told them – everything. Everything except what we were to each other. They seemed to think I did the best I could. I could have done more. Done better. I should have been able to stop it all. They accepted why you acted so oddly. Why you murdered the Order in cold blood. My appearance startled them, but they accepted that I was Lothar’s to command, and that I would remain with the people of Stormwind and Lordaeron for the time being. They gave me orders of course. And I will ignore the ones that are stupid. The Horde is a greater issue. They know nothing of the books I have taken with me. And I will see that Dalaran never knows they are in my possession._

_Archbishop Alonsus Faol has brought us a new weapon in the form of soldiers of the Light – Paladins. Perhaps they will allow us to turn the tide._

_North – they have headed north. They go for Quel’thalas, Medivh. I have met elves – and they are exactly as you told me they would be. I have also met trolls – the vision I had did not prepare me for them. I am afraid._

_It was a ruse. They descend on Capital City. Light save us all._

_One of the warlocks – Gul’dan, if I remember right – betrayed the Horde to go after a place in the sea. He went after a relic known as the Scepter of Sargeras. It allowed us to split the Horde and take them down. They have fled across the portal or have perished or surrendered. I have destroyed the portal. But I feel as though this isn’t over._

Medivh set the pages aside, his heart pounding in his ears. These tiny snippets of what Khadgar had done were meant to be left here in case of his return, that was obvious. The pages were not accusatory, but they felt so. There was one set left – the last letter, or journal snippet or whatever it was meant to be. He picked it up with trembling fingers, took a deep breath, and started reading.

 

_Medivh,  
I understand now. I understand my first glimpse of the world with the blood red sky. I understand why I had to see it. And I know now that I have gone to my death. I know this because of that vision._

_Turalyon and I have led an expedition across the Dark Portal – open once again. By my calculations, the only thing left to do is to close it from this side – after recapturing the artifacts stolen by Ner’zhul. At some point, we will be overrun. Whether before the portal is closed or after, I do not know. I only know that I do not expect to see Azeroth’s skies ever again. I am taking enough of a chance being here now. But I … I know you will return. I could not leave without explanation._

_In that vision that I’d told you of, I did not tell you of the soldiers defending a position that was impossible. I did not tell you of their commander: a mage in a robe of red, old and grizzled, with eyes that I looked at in a mirror every day. That commander saw me. Saw through me, and nodded at me in that vision. I knew then, that I saw myself. I saw the moments before my death – but I could not hear the visions then, my first night in Karazhan’s walls. As certainly as Garona and I saw her kill Llane, and she knew it to be true, I knew that moment to be one of my last._

_I will never come home. I will never see you again. I am destined to die, not an actual old man, but this cursed visage your cursed self has given me. I hoped, one day, that we might meet again. I have held it in my heart these past few years. I have done all I could in your stead, with half the power and knowledge you held._

_I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry, Medivh. Had I known, perhaps it would have been kinder for us both to die._

_I will never stop loving you. Even as I draw my final breath under a sky of blood, I will still love you._

_I have to go back, before I am missed._

_Farewell,  
Khadgar_

 

Medivh let the page fall from shaking fingers to lay with the others, his hand over his face. He dug out fresh parchment, ink and pen, and began frantically writing.

He had to put this right.

He had to.

The first note he sent directly into Khadgar’s room, though the wards had stung. The second, he sent the long way, slipping it into the mail system in Dalaran directly. He would get one of them, surely.

Notes sent, he stood up and paced. Ten steps one way, ten the other. And stopped. It was too much like it had been … before. Now that those memories were fresh in his mind, he couldn’t. He shouldn’t stay here.

… but it was the only place Khadgar hadn’t left his…

His eyes strayed to the pages that had been left for him.

… mark.

He slid to his knees, his hand pressed to his eyes. There was no escaping this mess. There was nowhere for him to escape to. He could only hope that Khadgar would hear him out.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modera takes matters into her own hands.
> 
> This chapter is not beta-read.

Modera sighed, looking Khadgar over. He was sprawled in a chair, his hair untidy, his robes in disarray, two empty wine bottles and an empty glass beside him. His mouth was slightly open, and he snored softly. There was evidence of tears on his cheeks, his closed eyes showed circles beneath, and his lashes betrayed the movement beneath him.

Another letter lay open beside the bottles.

Modera set the box she brought up, as well as the tray of coffee, on the table, then turned to look at the Archmage again. And then the letter. She closed her eyes, heaved another sigh, and picked up the letter. She hated prying, but she also didn’t like seeing him this way, and after what he had told her two days ago…

The letter was messily written. Its ink was blotched in a few places, smeared in others. She could feel guilt and hurt as though it was smoke rising from the page. She looked at Khadgar again, then actually read the letter.

_Khadgar, please don’t do this. I beg you don’t do this. Come back and talk to me. Let me explain. I swear it’s not what you think. I know what you must be thinking. And it’s not the reason I turned cold. For Light’s Sake please don’t do this._

She replaced the note where it had been, and closed her eyes again. From where she stood, it looked as though both sides were self-destructing over something that was either very serious or just a very serious misunderstanding. She shook her head, and finally decided to brave waking her colleague and friend.

“Khadgar.” Her voice was pitched as an impatient teacher would a student who had fallen asleep in class. “ _Khadgar._ ”

And Khadgar came awake with a sharp gasp. His eyes snapped open, and he blinked, clearly trying to get his bloodshot eyes to focus. When they did, he sat up, and stared at Modera. “Modera?” His voice was hoarse, and just above a whisper.

Modera shook her head and took a step closer, reached down and tilted his face up to hers. She suspected he had been like this for at least a day, considering the stubble against her fingers, the state of his eyes and voice, and that he was still wearing the purple robes she had last seen him in. She let him go, sighed, and turned away from him. A moment later, she put a mug in his hands. He blinked it, then at her.

“Khadgar, you can’t keep going like this.” Her tone was soft, but it was like velvet over steel. “Have you responded to him at all?”

Khadgar glanced at the letter and shook his head, raising the mug to his lips. His face scrunched a little when he realized the coffee she handed him was black, and he sighed, resigned. He deserved that. He didn’t complain however. “Thank you,” he said, taking a sip of the coffee, which was strong and a bit bitter. “No. I have not.”

“Why?!”

Khadgar lowered the mug. “I can’t,” he whispered. “I can’t face him.”

Modera huffed, poured herself a mug of coffee and added cream and sugar before sitting on the couch. “I want to rip into you for being a coward,” she said acidly. “But I can’t. Not with the way you’re still hurting.” Her tone softened. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself – or to him. Are you so afraid of the truth?”

Khadgar drained half his mug, then cradled  it in his hands. “If the truth is that I am just a… second choice, and that he preferred her? Yes.”

“And if it isn’t?”

“Then I’m afraid of looking like a jealous twat for thinking I was jilted.” The other half of the mug was drained. “Either way, I’m only going to make things worse.”

Modera put her mug down, stood up and took his mug from his fingers, refilled it, and added cream and sugar, then set it back in his hands. “You’re making it worse by not talking to him,” she sighed as she settled again. “You need to talk to him. You realize the pain coming off that,” she nodded her head at the note, “is thick enough for anyone with any kind of empathy to feel from outside this room? Can you imagine of someone used sympathy to hunt for something strong, and it led them here to find you like I did? I mean, granted, you left your door keyed to me, and I knocked for several minutes before I came in, but if someone else found you?”

Khadgar lowered his eyes, then his head. “So they’d find me, a wreck, find that,” he nodded at the note, “and assume I’m a lovestruck fool.” He shrugged one shoulder. “It wouldn’t be inaccurate.” His tone dripped acid, though Modera knew it was not directed at her, but himself.

“Doesn’t the fact that he sent that say anything at all to you? Why would he keep trying if he didn’t care?”

“I know he cares – but I don’t think it’s _me_ he cares _about_.”

“Titan’s _tits_ , Khadgar.” He looked up at her, his eyes wide with shock. “He cares enough to keep begging you – _begging. you._ – to come back. Medivh never begged. Demanded. Requested. Sent letters that would rival political declarations with requests. The Guardian. Never. Begged.”

Khadgar shook his head, lowering it again. Modera opened her mouth to continue, then realized he wasn’t shaking his head. He was _shaking_. She set her mug back down and got up again, taking his mug from his hands and setting it on the table beside him. With strength he had no idea she possessed, she hauled him out of his chair and put him on the couch, sat next to him and …

Held him.

Shock made him pause. The implications of her actions crashed into him as one of her hands splayed against his back. He gasped, bit down on his lip to stifle a sob. And then _shattered_.

She had expected this. She knew that he kept himself bottled so tightly that nothing penetrated his defenses. No one could get under his skin to evoke more than sympathy, anger, sadness, distress, all of it in a mild form. But this mess, whatever was going on, had wormed into his soul. It wasn’t a colleague. A friend. One of those he had chosen to champion his causes. If she ever wanted proof of how he felt, she had it now.

She asked no questions. He offered no answers to what was unspoken, though she suspected that it was in part due to the fact that he could not speak through the sobs that shook him. His hands lifted to her back, and for a few moments, only recognized her as ‘safe’.

She should tell the others what was going on. But she did not, and would not betray his confidences, especially not when her arms were full of a highly powerful, very talented and brilliant mage who once, she had agreed to sending to his probable death, and who had defeated a demonic-Titan possessed _Guardian_ at the age of eighteen, then proceeded to aid in strategy and commanding troops, lifted the spirits of a promising Lieutenant that became the commander of the Alliance armies, became an Archmage at the tender age of twenty, destroyed the Dark Portal, oversaw the construction of a stronghold and commanded _that_ , until he led an expedition to the other side of a reopened Dark Portal to, very likely, find his death there closing it from the other side, returned, rose to sit on the Council, led another expedition across the same portal to a different version of Draenor, orchestrated a full counteroffensive, then returned from there and wound up leader of the Kirin Tor and in a full-scale war against the Burning Legion… and now was crushed beneath a broken heart.

His strength was something the world leaned on. And until now, she had known him to have no one he could do the same with. He was a voice of reason, of contrary arguments, and of peace and unity. He confided in no one she knew of in Dalaran, no one other than her, at any rate, and that was only recently. The only support he had was in a tower, far away, and likely in the same shape as Khadgar himself was.

She closed her eyes, murmuring soothingly to him. Her eyes strayed to the letter Medivh had sent again, and her lips compressed.

It wasn’t really up to her to do anything about this.

But she would.

 

It had been decades since the last time she stood at the gates of Karazhan. Back then, it was a tower of pale grey and ivory, stained glass windows and a beacon of hope – or debauchery, one or the other. She had not realized that it had degraded to aged and weathered dark grey, the ironwork of the gates rusting and falling apart, many of the windows shattered, balconies crumbling. She could see an entire section of a staircase that was missing a wall, and part of the staircase had caved in, sagging against what was left of its supports.

Movement caught her eye, and she looked up at one of the balconies. Light from the setting sun caught on something gold, and a ghost, or spirit, or something like it moved to the railing, looked up, adjusted the astrolabe in his hands, set it down, bent over something, then turned to walk back to the doorway leading inside, hands behind his back… and vanished as he stopped walking.

She shook her head. The place was still haunted, then. Or… She looked up, squinting to see the top of the tower, following the pale violet wisp of a leyline as it wove its way up the outer wall like a vine. Perhaps it was an echo, rather than a ghost.

She sighed, then moved inside, looked at the great front door, and raised her hand to knock, her hand glowing very slightly so that the knock would not only tell someone within who she was, but also that she was no threat. And then she took a step back. And waited.

 

The knock woke Medivh, and his eyes opened with a jolt. His back screamed as he sat up, and he rubbed an eye as he wondered why it was so dark.

The tapers had burned down to stubs, and one of them had finally drowned its flame. He sighed, made an absent gesture, and a pale green light appeared over his head. With a sigh, he dragged himself out of the chair, wincing as the metal scraped over the floor. His feet felt heavy as he climbed the stairs, and he searched the aura of the knock as he did.

He nearly stopped, feeling the unmistakable power of someone from the Kirin Tor. It was not Khadgar, but a presence he knew but could not fit a name to. Interesting. What would someone from the Kirin Tor want with him now? Had Khadgar done or said something? Sent someone with a message? He bit his lip, trying to keep himself from hoping.

He shoved the section of the wall back into place, and checked that he was at least covered. He didn’t care if he looked disheveled as long as no important bits were exposed for whoever this was to see. A smile touched his lips. There had been a time, once, where he wouldn’t have cared.

He muttered a little as he unlocked the heavy doors, and pulled one of them open. At first, he did not see anyone, and frowned. Was it his imagination?

“Magus Medivh?” The female voice was startling. Khadgar sent a female?

Medivh blinked, then nodded, not trusting his voice.

“Well, you’re alive. That’s something.” Medivh decided he cautiously liked this woman. Her voice held dry amusement as she continued. “I’m not sure if you remember me or even met me before officially. I’m Modera – one of the current and past Council of Six.” Her look turned piercing. “I’m a _friend_ of Khadgar’s.”

Medivh lifted an eyebrow at the slight emphasis she put on the word ‘friend’. “A pleasure,” he replied – or rather, rasped. He held the door open and stood aside. “Come in. No point in standing outside.”

“Thank you,” she said simply, stepping over the threshold. “I had my reservations on coming here, but, I felt I had to, in the end.”

“I assume something has happened,” he said, his voice gaining strength as he led her up the stairs and across the hall to a sitting room.

As he busied himself in setting the fire and summoning a tea tray so he could make them a pot of peacebloom and dreamfoil, she began to talk. And the more she talked, the more upset he became.

“Khadgar is a wreck, Magus,” she said bluntly as he waved her into a chair. She settled into it with a sigh. “When he got back, he overslept. I gave him an order to get some rest – and he and I talked. He told me what happened. I’ve seen some of what you’ve written him. I’ve tried to convince him to at least write back. I won’t describe the fear in his eyes at the suggestion. He’s afraid of returning here. Afraid of whatever it is you aren’t telling him. Afraid it isn’t _him_ you want, but have only taken him because you no longer have your first choice. Afraid that it’s not _him_ you’re frightened of losing, but that you’re afraid of losing something you had.”

Medivh sighed, pouring two mugs of tea and offering her one. She took it with a nod of thanks and cradled it in her hands. He settled in the other chair and stared at the mug in his own. “So. My reputation once again bites me in the arse. I am possessive, yes, but Light I thought I’d made it clear that he…” He shut his mouth with a soft click. He looked up at Modera and sighed. “I cannot leave,” he said, his voice sad. “Or I would go to him. I would have followed that night, if I could.

“Archmage, let me be frank with you. Since Khadgar set foot in this tower so many decades ago, afraid and expecting to be disposed of, he has been dear to me. The longer he stayed, the more surprised I was to find him at breakfast, day after day, alive and well, if a little tired. When I named him my apprentice, I knew that of the entire world – he was the only one who could accomplish all I needed him to, all I could ask of him, and still come out of it relatively whole – if I did not kill him. I was terrified, more than once, that I had signed his death sentence.” He sipped his tea, ignoring the pain as it scalded his tongue. “He was the answer to … everything. He picked up the clues I left under Sargeras’ nose. He found the truth and confronted me. And then he managed to go for help. And all that time…” He turned his head to look at Modera, critically. “Have you ever been in love?”

“I have,” Modera replied.

Medivh nodded. “When we returned from Stormwind, our first visit, I had just fought, not only Sargeras’ influence in wanting me to just raze the city I was born and grew up in, but also summoned and destroyed a demon to cover the murders of Hugarin and Huglar.” He shook his head. “They were in fact careless with something they were doing – which included summoning a demon, but… much of it had been … had been my work. A fact that still upsets me, considering I do not remember my own part of it. I merely finished it – and part of the reason we were there was so I could alert not only Khadgar, but Anduin Lothar to my troubles, and give them a chance to talk without me there.” He leaned back. “When we flew back to Karazhan, as it always was after I exerted a large magical effort, I was spent, having had to fight to channel the Arcane through my corruption.” He looked at Modera again. “At one time, a few hours was enough to restore my strength after such a thing. The longer it went on, the longer I took to recover. I gave Khadgar the information he needed to conduct business in my absence, and collapsed once I reached my chambers.” He sighed. “A week or so later, Khadgar finally worked up the courage to check on me. I was conscious enough by then to feel his presence. I was able to respond to him enough that his visits became regular. When I was awake, I realized that he and Moroes shared the task of my care, and that Khadgar had taken over more of it as time went on. He read to me, some of the correspondence that came in. Installed himself in the chair by the desk. Slept there no few times.” His eyes closed.

“There is love, and then there is _love._ ” Medivh shook his head. “It is all well and good to say you love someone. But when you are by their side when they are as I was, filling the silence, offering touch and connection… I realized I was falling in love with him, then. He clearly already harbored feelings for me, as he kept me updated, talked me through moving me when he and Moroes changed the bedding from under me. Fluffed my pillows as he held me before feeding me, all with a touch I cannot even describe as anything other than ‘loving’ or ‘tender’.” He sipped his tea again, more cautiously this time. “When Sargeras returned to drag me out of my nap, Khadgar attacked him. With a letter opener. As it was only an image, it did nothing but…” He gave Modera a significant look.

“A mage, even as young as he was and still learning – should have thought of spells before that…” Modera shook her head, astounded.

“Precisely. I admonished him for sleeping on the floor, insisting Moroes could have set up a cot for him if he had insisted on staying with me. His thoughts were only of my protection.” Medivh shook his head again, sighing. “It was weeks after that before the explosion in the library. Muttering in his sleep, he tried to cast something I had set him to learn – hit his head in the process. And it spilled out of him. How he felt. I should have left, but Light I knew the poor thing was affection starved. Leaving him with a head injury after a confession like that would have been like putting a dagger in his heart – and with the way I felt, I could not do that to him. And so it began.” He sipped his tea again. “We never needed much. A look. A touch. Spending quiet evenings reading or in chess games or riddles or deep conversations on magical theory. I will not lie and say that I only took him to my bed the once – but it was not… a necessity as it is with so many pairings.”

Modera nodded, slowly, remembering that as being exactly how Khadgar had described their relationship.

“When it all came to a head… I hurt him. I hurt him for weeks, trying desperately to separate us enough so he could do what had to be done, and even then I tried to end myself so he and Anduin would not have to.” He looked away from Modera then, shaking his head. “On one hand, I knew what I had done had hurt him. Killing me did not help. And I only, ever, wanted to tell him the truth, about what happened. How I felt. How I didn’t want to die if it meant leaving him alone, but there was no other way. There was no other way.

“It was a long time before we were finally reunited, and that was recently. Since then…” he trailed off.

“Since then, he has been happier than I’ve ever seen him. There is a light in his eyes that has only gone out a few days ago. Energy I have not seen him exhibit in years.” Modera smiled. “I suspected that his trip here had netted more than just answers on what he could do to slow the Legion’s advances. He had ideas, he said before he left. Ideas that he could only find the answers to in Karazhan’s library. He was working on some project on Draenor during the campaign there, created artifacts of great power in the form of rings for his chosen champions. He wanted to expand on that somehow, though I suspect, in the wake of the Great Artifacts that have been awakened or reclaimed or in some cases, reawakened, he was searching for a way to give them more strength, which is something all of us have been doing tirelessly.” She sipped her tea, and curled a leg under her. “During the time you’d hurt him – I assume was when Garona was here.”

Medivh winced, then nodded. “Things were… falling apart. Quickly. Sargeras’ influence was wearing. His demands were… exhausting to fight against. I remember little of a lot of what happened during that time, you must understand.” He grimaced, realizing his voice was pleading – though he knew his pleas weren’t directed at the woman he spoke with. “And this is what I can’t explain to him in a letter. All that happened during that time – I… working through it, one step at a time. I have to make him understand nuances. I can’t do that in writing.” He sighed. “I assume that, since you are here, and I have spilled things only he knows of, that he has put his trust in you, else I… would not have trusted you with it. I should not ask it of you but… make him understand that _he_ is everything to me. _Everything_.”

Modera sighed, but she did recognize that even with all of his considerable abilities, his pain was palpable. And it mirrored Khadgar’s almost to the same aura vibration.

She had to get them in the same place. And it was clear that Medivh could not leave here.

“I will do what I can, Magus,” she said softly. And mentally winced at the hope in his eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

Modera did not like what Khadgar was doing. She knew he had some kind of affinity or protection or ‘understanding’ with anything Fel, but she did not like what he was doing. She kept her mouth shut, grateful he wasn’t going after things on his own again.

He was still not recovered from whatever was going on between him and Medivh, and the circles under his eyes proved it. He was pacing, turning the crystal fragment his champions had brought back from the so called ‘God King’ in Stormheim in his hands, caressing it, murmuring to the thing, almost pleadingly at times to determine what it said.

Modera sighed, and shared a look with Ansirem, then with Karlain. She could see their concern, considering that they had seen enough of this odd behavior lately to make them wonder if Khadgar was not going the same way as Vargoth, though none of them wanted to see _that_. It would shake the faith of everyone involved in this entire campaign, considering Khadgar had been leading it from the beginning.

Thankfully, his champions did not make him pace for too long, returning with other fragments. Modera and the others watched – in no small amount of shock – as Khadgar reassembled the whole of the crystal, then stared deeply into it.

His eyes widened. His breath caught. Modera saw panic, fear, and something that was gone too quickly for her to grasp as his jaw clenched, and he shook his head. He spoke in a frightened voice, tightly controlled, Modera noticed. Enough fear to make his champions understand that he _was_ afraid, enough emotion to convey that he was upset.

But Modera knew better. Karazhan was in the hands of the Legion? With Medivh there? She wondered just what it was Khadgar had seen in that crystal that he wasn’t saying. Before she could ask, she heard laughter, and looked up, a dark shadow descending from the vaulted ceiling and forming into a sharp lance that shot down to shatter the crystal, its fragments razor sharp as they thudded into them all.

 

Modera gasped as she woke, sitting up at once, waving a hand to bring the lights up. Her clock was ticking cheerfully in the hallway. Moonlight made the window glow behind the curtains. And there was nothing but quiet.

Her dream was unsettling to say the least. She remembered that day, the day Khadgar had returned to Karazhan in a … well, not _panic_ but he and Karlain wasted no time in getting the group to Karazhan and getting it sorted out. It had been then that it was confirmed that…

She frowned, pushed her blankets aside and reached for a robe to cover her nightdress. The rumors the champions had brought back that Medivh was alive, but she had _known_ in that dream. Khadgar’s report had included that he and Medivh had shut down links to the Twisting Nether that had been left open and forgotten.

But that was at least two weeks ago. Why was she dreaming of it now? What had that shadow been? What was it that Khadgar had seen, and why was it important now?

Modera sighed. Whether she liked it or not, she was involved in this mess now. As she padded into her tiny kitchen to get a cup of soothing tea, she tried to puzzle out just why that was significant.

 

“Take the tower, open the conduits to their fullest. If we can pull it physically apart, the leylines will be easier to get to, and control. Have the others in place, and if you find that damned mage, kill him. But do so slowly – I want him to _suffer_. Gather all of the books you find, they are more valuable than you know. And if that other mage – that apprentice – shows up, I want _him_ tortured.”

Khadgar’s eyes widened, and he quickly controlled his reactions. He let enough show that he was concerned for the place he once called home. Enough to communicate the gravity of Karazhan being in the Legion’s hands. And then he had to control his initial thoughts. He had to stay focused. He could not just hare off to Karazhan and start pulling demons apart with his bare hands. How had they managed to get in and get such a hold on the tower while Medivh was there? Did they have him? Were they destroying him even now while he calmly gave orders and requested assistance and dawdled and dithered…

He looked up at the tower, the stone edifice no different than the last time he had come here, research turning into a much-needed soul-searching endeavor, his heart having ached for so long that it was odd to feel it whole again. But would it be, after tonight? Would he go in and find the tower completely torn apart? Was Medivh still alive, bound to the tower and unable to leave it as it fell into the Legion’s grasp?

First things first. The wards, and the things running rampant outside. He delegated, and Karlain glared at him as he closed his eyes and sank into a light trance to extend all of his senses. Of course, Karlain would not have understood his request to take notes on what he found, but when he didn’t move from beside the gates, he could tell Karlain was slightly upset at this turn of events. He could _feel_ Karlain’s astonishment as Khadgar began to speak, slowly, detailing and pinpointing spots of disturbance. When he opened his eyes, Karlain wordlessly handed him a few pages of notes, his eyes holding a new level of respect for the older-looking, but younger mage.

Khadgar took the pages with thanks, looked them over, and as other tasks were completed, continued to delegate. When the outside of the tower was secure, it was time to stop putting things off – time to go inside the tower.

The moment he passed through the side-door entrance, he knew something was … different, than the last few times he had been here. He could feel something, and he didn’t expect it. His previous visits had not allowed him to feel the resonance. But it was undeniable. Medivh’s aura had always been unique, even among mages. It felt odd, to him, though. As though something wasn’t quite right.

He left the others with instructions to make their way through the tower while he headed for the source. His search led him through the tower, past things he remembered, past things that had twisted beyond recognition. He tried to find his old room – but found the corridor that had led to it now dropped off into …nothingness. He tried Medivh’s room, to find that the corridor and the stairs that lead there were both gone, leaving no way to get to it.

He tried Medivh’s new home in the guest quarters, only to find himself getting a lecture on perfidy and fidelity from the Maiden of Virtue that he finally snapped at her. “I have been with no other save Medivh – so you can stop with the lectures at _me_. Perhaps he was extravagant in the way he conducted himself in his youth, but just because I was his apprentice does not mean that I share it! He and I were true to one another – as you should know considering you watch over this hallway, and he quarters here for the time being!”

She stared at him, tilted her head a little, and then to his shock, nodded, returning to her place in what had once been a communal – and social – bathing room.

Khadgar huffed a sigh, then turned his steps (and wings) to other places. The library was empty. The observatory was mostly destroyed. He stumbled on a room he had never seen; though the intimate library setting told him what it must have been. It could only have been Medivh’s private study, a room Medivh mentioned here and there, but to his knowledge had never retreated to while he apprenticed here.

It wasn’t until he flew over the remains of what had once been the home of an almost alive chess-set and found himself half in and half out of the Twisting Nether that he finally confessed himself stumped. There was a locked door before him, but flying around it and over it led nowhere.

It was here that his champions found him, after they had beaten what was left of the chess pieces. He hoped that Medivh wouldn’t blame that on him, considering Khadgar had not been the ones to combat them.

Movement caught his eye as his champions approached – a raven. His eyes widened as Medivh revealed himself. He spoke absently, likely for the benefit of those behind him; Khadgar already knew he was here. But he looked _through_ Khadgar, as though he didn’t notice him. And ignored Khadgar’s questioning as he went to unlock the door and flew off.

Leaving his champions to finish the Beholder, Khadgar took to the… sky? The Nether was an odd place – this space was filled with demonic fel, and it was difficult to keep the other raven – darker than he was, and larger – in sight against the darkness.

There were places where it met Karazhan in channels, and as he noticed the first one, he realized Medivh was heading for it. He followed, landing beside him on what appeared to be a floating section of one of the hallways.

Medivh turned to him, once again looking through him, and he nodded, once, indicating the channel with one hand. Khadgar understood, and turned his attention to it.

He barely caught the green glow in Medivh’s eyes as one of the former Guardian’s hands shot out – not toward the channel, but toward _Khadgar_. He didn’t have time to raise a shield or react with anything other than a widening of blue eyes before the fel-blast struck him in the chest.

And then Medivh watched as Khadgar fell from the floating section of floor, and turned his back on him.

 

Khadgar hit the floor, tangled in his bedding. He snapped awake, staring up into the dimly lit bedroom, focusing on where a sliver of light shone from his window between the curtains. He shivered, but not from cold, staring at the light until his eyes adjusted. He waited until his eyes could take in more of the room, and his breathing had calmed a little before trying to extricate himself from his blankets.

Leaving his bed disheveled he stood and went to get a glass of wine to calm himself down. Three glasses later saw him in his sitting room, staring at the cold fireplace and going over the dream, trying to figure out why it deviated so much from what had actually happened.

Medivh had welcomed his presence on that section of flooring. They, together, had closed off the last of the Legion’s access to Karazhan. Khadgar had acted, partially, before his champions – at least until Medivh had called him ‘Guardian’. They as of yet had not discussed the rest of Medivh’s words. It was something he had planned to ask before…

He sighed, pouring a fourth glass.

 

Medivh felt the presence of others within Karazhan, accompanying the one he knew so well – and wondered if Khadgar had brought them as backup to deal with the invasion. Well. Good. He had tried – and failed – to deal with it on his own, fleeing to places they could not reach when he realized he could not. Places he had only recently rediscovered existed. But Khadgar resonated with the tower just as he did, as was proper. He would know that Medivh was still here.

When Khadgar reached the door that he had kept locked against the invasion, and his fellows had caught up with him, only then did Medivh show himself. He did not want rumors. He did not want others coming to hunt him. He did not want the tower to lure any others.

The Ethereals had been bad enough, thank you.

When he landed, though, and looked over the group that stood with Khadgar, he could feel the younger mage’s eyes on him. He spoke, as though he had not heard Khadgar speak, but as he turned to open the door that he had sealed shut, their eyes met.

Medivh’s blood ran cold. He knew that look. The warm blue eyes had turned to ice. They were full of cold fury as he raised a hand and Medivh didn’t have time to blink before he was struck down.

 

Medivh opened his eyes, sighing. He reached up to rub his temples, then stood from the chair he had dozed off in. Things were at a stalemate, and his dreams were starting to repeat. He walked to the window and looked out of it, looking up at the moons overhead, watching clouds drift across their faces.

Shaking his head, he turned away again. The archmage he had spoken with – Modera – had convinced him that he should keep trying, that Khadgar was just being inordinately stubborn. But it had been more than a week.

Guilt was gnawing at him, and he wanted nothing more than to just go back to sleep until this whole thing was over. Or he died, one or the other.

He paced the sitting room, suddenly aware of how much this felt like when he was younger, with only Moroes for company. Except there was no Moroes now. He had not felt loneliness this keenly since he had breathed his first breath in Suramar when his mother brought him back to life. Books were no comfort to him, not when the library and his favored reading room were permeated with echoes and memories. He could not leave the tower grounds. Though he would not go far anyway, not with the possibility of recapture and being subjected to another possession out there.

It didn’t help that he hadn’t been able to sleep without nightmares since Khadgar had left. He was exhausted, and realized that he should probably eat something. Not that he felt like doing so. Perhaps if he did, he might dream up some other way to…

Wait a moment.

He slowed, then came to a stop in front of the fireplace. Why hadn’t he thought of that sooner?

His stomach growled at him, for the first time in a week, and rather than ignoring it, he smiled a little and headed down to the kitchen.


End file.
